


Cut it off when I stop breathing/And 2029 comes creeping

by JamLabs



Series: MGS Summer Games 2020 [1]
Category: Metal Gear
Genre: F/M, Government Conspiracy, Implied Vampolidus, M/M, Metal Gear Solid 2: Sons of Liberty - Freeform, Metal Gear Solid 3: Snake Eater, Metal Gear: Ghost Babel, Not to be a solidus fan, Paramedic's story involves events until MGS1, Unethical Experimentation, a girl can kill someone in the name of her brother and adoptive dad if she wants to, but he was right, generous use of headcanon for naked snake, i too would love to get away from the noise and just.... go camping, mgs summer games, not to be a naomi fan either but she was justified, yes i love ghost babel what about it, yes i project what about it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-18
Updated: 2020-08-18
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:02:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25977154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JamLabs/pseuds/JamLabs
Summary: Title comes form the song Shadow Fury by Gunship, I listened to the whole time I wrote this1) Paramedic's fall from grace.2) The Sorrow observes the events of MGS3 with a few friends.3) Chris and Snake go cross country and run into car trouble.4) George Sears reflects.5) Naked Snake only feels at home in the jungle.
Relationships: (at least implied vampolidus), Naomi Hunter & Gray Fox, Solid Snake / Chris Jenner, Solidus Snake/Vamp, The Boss/The Sorrow (Metal Gear)
Series: MGS Summer Games 2020 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1885432
Comments: 10
Kudos: 13
Collections: Metal Gear Solid - Summer Games -2020





	1. "She's lost control."

Jane Clark-- no, she’s on duty right now-- Paramedic looks through the glass at the woman laying in bed. Her assistant, ready to go through the process to donate her body to science. EVA, laying right next to her, just as ready. A small part of her brain praises the double (maybe triple?) agent. She really is beautiful. A real “bombshell,” as they would say. Her loyalty, that’s even more commendable. The majority of her brain shoves that small part aside, too busy thinking about the project that’s being undertaken. Cloning. How amazing would this be if it worked? To hell with what Big Boss wants, his genes are a hot commodity and she’d be a fool to let it go. He’s a perfect specimen, she’d told him that long, long ago. David-- Major Zero-- had told her that she was finally able to perform the techniques she’d read about, the things she’d researched obsessively after mentioning it to Snake on that cursed mission. His genes, replicated in a child. EVA volunteering for the process, his DNA stolen, her assistant willing to donate her eggs to create the perfect vessel to surpass Big Boss. To control him without having him. 

Zero may care about all that, about controlling the man who leads a nation across the sea, but Paramedic doesn’t. She only wants to perform this experiment. To see where it goes. The itch of knowledge is constant, telling her to experiment and test and  _ understand.  _ Cloning is such a new subject. Really, Snake should be honored it’s his genes being passed on. That it’s his body being used to create a new generation of soldiers. That his clones are going to be perfect. Well, not quite. She’s been told to alter their genes. Even more sleepless nights, hours melting into days into weeks into months as she works to understand gene therapy, editing the human genome, manipulating and wrangling DNA into the alleles she wants. She’s so excited.

Zero wants one with all dominant genes, and one with all recessive. She neglects to tell him that’s not how genes work, too ecstatic with the victory that it’s _working._ The clones are healthy boys, twins. Both blonde, one silent, one screaming, and both removed before EVA could come down from the pain. Her sobs echo as Paramedic carries the children away. David. Eli. She’s ecstatic. Another scientific victory. Doctor Clark, forefront for the Les Enfants Terribles project. Doctor Clark, establishing the first Paramedic system in Washington. Doctor Clark, the woman who put genetic timers into twin newborns and a later third, as a safety precaution. 

So what if people don’t know her name? Who she is? They’ve heard of her research, they’ve seen her results. They’ve seen what she’s done. The cloning, the bio-engineering, the gene therapy… and who cares if it’s against the law? Those laws are just suggestions, just declarations. They’re not actually violating any treaties using her research on soldiers. It’ll make them better. It’ll make them stronger. It’ll make them more like Big Boss. They’ll be perfect, just like her clones, just like those three children that she created. The two blondes, the one who looks just like Snake. She made sure to activate his timer early. Zero wants to use him for the presidency. Something about advancing the Patriot’s goals. 

She doesn’t really care. Her research comes first. Her experiments she’s still allowed to do. That boy she rescued from the disaster that was Zanzibar Land, along with Big Boss’ body. She keeps him alive, of course. They still need Big Boss. The boy, however… She rebuilds him, uses an exoskeleton to keep him alive. When he wakes, she tests on him. Drugs him until he can’t remember his own name, and tests her gene therapies on him. A perfect little lab rat, this Jaeger is. She can’t stop now. There’s still so much she needs to know. There’s still so much. There’s-- 

Naomi stands above the woman, her chest heaving. Her brother is covered in blood. Her hand trembles as she lets the sword clatter to the ground. She’s dead. She’s dead and her brother is free. Frank staggers to his feet, still woozy from the drugs. “Naomi…” he mutters. “Snake, the Boss…” 

“Hush.” She says, supporting Frank, ignoring the blood on that shell that covers his entire body, the blood on her blouse, the blood on the floor and walls and pooling in the tile. “You’re safe now.” 

Four years he’d been kept here, locked up and drugged and treated like an animal. Naomi can’t believe she ever looked up to Doctor Clark. To Paramedic. The woman lost control of herself a long time ago. Lost her morals and her friendships. Oh well. Anger lodges itself back in her heart like ice. One down. One to go.


	2. "Dead Souls."

The Sorrow is lonely. He’s been dead for years, and his unit still lives on without him. He stays in his mangrove swamp, he stays and watches, popping back into the living world and bringing the rain with him. His comrades have to know what it means. They always look for him. They’re spread all over the world now, Joy back in the US, the Fury in Russia. The Fear stalking the jungles and forests of the world, the End resting somewhere he doesn’t know. The Pain taking on odd jobs in South America. They’re all listless without the rest of their unit. Shuffling from day to day, their souls downcast and despondent. 

He’s never felt more alive then when they’re all back together. He almost feels the mood uplift, he feels the camaraderie surging back. He feels them all congregating, he feels them waiting for  _ her _ . He wishes he had the strength to join them. But he must wait. He must wait for Joy to come back to her Cobras. 

Sorrow sees her apprentice over her shoulder. He’s confused when the boy’s eyes widen, almost as if… no. No, he can’t have seen the Sorrow. He must have been looking at the Joy, looking at the woman he’s looked up to for years, and feeling the sorrow and pain of her betrayal. Sorrow winces when the poor boy is thrown off the bridge. He rubs at the side of his head, the pain of that bullet shattering his glasses too familiar and too real. This bridge is too familiar to see. He looks up at his comrades, looks up at the rain he’s brought and hears the murmurs of the lightning Russian. He floats down to the bottom of the river, unsurprised to see that the boy has survived. Her apprentice sets his own arm, bandages up his own injuries, and looks at the bones washed up on the river. His eyes are hazy, and Sorrow purses his lips. Poor kid. He hasn’t killed anyone on this mission, not yet. He doesn’t need to see his sins. 

He  _ feels _ it when the nuke hits. His hair whooshes back in a wind that shouldn’t affect him, his dead eyes blinded by the flash. He pops back into his swamp, not wanting to stay for much longer. He hasn’t  _ felt _ in so long. He joins his unit as they harass the poor GRU members, as they tease and belittle those fools wearing the red berets. His sorrow doesn’t seem quite as overwhelming, with his Joy here. With his comrades here. It’s almost nice, for the week he observes them. 

The boy comes back. And with him, comes sorrow. The Pain is the first to fall to his hand. Sorrow finds him in his mangroves, the ghosts of bees swarming around his head. Pain shakes his head when Sorrow condemns the boy for killing him. It was the microbomb, the Pain says. He’s proud of the boy. Proud of him for killing him, proud of him for ending a Cobra. It’s a fitting end, he thinks. To be shot down by her apprentice. He sits down on the roots of trees, bee boxes making themselves at home behind him. Despite one of his close friends dying, the Sorrow feels something lift off his spirit. He’s not so lonely anymore. 

He knows the boy can see him. He knows it. He watches the boy in charge of the Ocelot unit terrify that coward of a scientist, and his Joy disarm him. The Fear and the End come out, and Volgin takes that spy inside with him, the rain that Sorrow brings with him making him too nervous to remain. He looks out towards the boy, hovering behind the Joy. Her apprentice dips out of sight, and he-- He’s wearing a crocodile hat. It’s so silly, Sorrow is briefly frozen in place. What? What the hell. The crocodile swims towards where he floats, and he quickly makes his escape. He has no desire to be questioned right now. 

The Fear is next. He falls with a splash into the water, cackling madly. He may have gone out, but he went out with a BANG! He says, spreading his arms wide. He shot the boy, injected him with venom. Had a game of cat and mouse, and was amused with just how  _ wild  _ her boy is. “He eats wild animals!” The Fear laughs, a hammock appearing in a mangrove tree for him. “He looked me dead in the eyes, and ripped apart a rabbit with his teeth!” 

“Pheh, he did the same around me.” The Pain grumbles. “Stabbed fish right out of the river and ate them raw. What the hell did she teach this kid?” 

The Fear cracks his joints and settles into his hammock. “The End is next.” He says. The Sorrow sighs, his feet barely touching water. 

“She’s going to use that pun, isn’t she.” 

Laughs fill the air, even as her boy trudges on. 

The End fades in from the trees, his parrot absent. “He’s good.” The old man gripes. He settles into a chair made of roots, right across from the Pain. “A crack shot with a rifle. Not half bad at sneaking either.” 

“Why didn’t you take him out?” Sorrow asks quietly. Of their number, only Fury and Joy remain. 

The End looks at him and shakes his head. “You know why.” 

Fury arrives with a sudden burst of heat, flames spewing out from where his helmet is supposed to be. He screams with rage, before Fear dunks him into Sorrow’s river. The flames extinguished, the Fury lays there in the water. He sits up and screws his helmet back on. “That damn kid.” He curses. “I got him good, though.” His grin is almost visible through his helmet. He turns to Sorrow and laughs. “I missed you, you spooky bastard!” 

Sorrow chuckles lightly. “I missed you all too. It’s… a shame. I was never able to see you all again before you came here.” 

The Pain waves a dismissive hand. “We’re all together now,” he says. “If we’re dead, we’re dead. At least we’re in hell together.” The Fear raises his hand as if toasting that statement. 

“Not all together yet.” End says softly. The mood plummets. 

“Joy.” Sorrow says. 

“Do you think…?” Fury’s voice is quieter than he’s heard in a long time. Silence across the river and the home the ghosts have made there. 

There is no answer. 

The Sorrow winces as the boy screams in agony. He doesn’t want to be here, but he knows he should be. The Joy’s apprentice can’t die here, not like this. Blood runs down his body in rivulets, scars of years of training visible and only being added to. Lighting branches from Volgin’s hands, making the boy convulse as his nerves are lit on fire. The Sorrow waits. The bag is taken off his head, and his eyes squint shut, not ready for the light along with the pain. The Joy is told to cut her boy’s eye out. He looks… young. Like the child he really is, scared to see someone he’s trusted so close to injuring him. Luckily for him, Major Ocelot comes in and threatens the spy his Joy is protecting. The boy loses his eye, and Sorrow holds up his sign. The code to escape his jail cell. The code to help him escape. 

He feels smug when he hears Volgin’s scream of rage. 

The boy drowns. He sees the last bit of air leave his lungs, and the sigh of a wandering soul about to join the beyond. He takes that soul, and he  _ yanks.  _ The boy walks out from the distance, trees on fire thanks to the Fury. His eye is dark and caked with blood, his body just as bloody and damaged. He stares at the Sorrow as he rises up, recognition dawning in his eye. The Sorrow brings the rain, and tells the boy what he’s here for. To show him his sins. The sorrow he’s left behind. His glasses shatter, and blood runs down his face. He floats far away from her boy, taunting him, his unit accosting him, but the boy soldiering on. He eventually grasps at the Sorrow, and there’s an electric shock between them. The boy vanishes. 

Fury looks back, being the last one sent at him. “Sorrow?” He says. The others join him slowly. “Was he… Dead?” 

Sorrow bows his head. “Almost.” He whispers. He adjusts his glasses, the broken shards a reminder of just what happened to get him here. “Drowning.” 

Fear shudders. “What a horrible way to die.” He says. 

“Mhm. He’s not dead yet.” Sorrow looks up into the sky of his personal hell. 

“Will he finish his mission?” End asks. “I could feel his hesitation and turmoil, and that’s not even what I do.” 

Sorrow chuckles softly. “I don’t know. Not yet.” But they all know their Joy. They know that it’s always the mission with her. They know that she won’t let this end without blood on one of their hands. And Sorrow knows, as he feels the blood run down his cheek, exactly what she’ll choose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	3. "Transmission."

"SNAKE!" Chris yells as she pops her head out of the hood of the Jeep. "The damn transmission is shot!" She hears Snake groan, and a lighter flip open. She scowls at the Jeep. She'd stolen it during the whole Black Chamber incident, and she and Snake had been taking it across the country. He said he wants to retire for real. Get away from all this mess. It was a split second decision for Chris. She asked if she could join him. And he said yes. But now their mode of transport is broken, and she  _ definitely _ doesn't have the funds to replace it. She sighs and wipes her head free of sweat. 

She keeps thinking about, well, everything. What Snake told her, what Viper said, what everyone was fighting for. She looked inside herself and realized that the army wouldn't give her anything to believe in. She has to find them herself. She glances back over at Snake. He promised to be by her side while she searched. And he is. He promised once he made those faceless men who lurked in the shadows, the ones who controlled people as if they were puppets, people like Weasel and Campbell pay, he'd come back for her. And he did. She promised to wait. She's lucky she didn't have to wait long. 

He pulled her out of a dark place. Told her to focus on living, on getting back home. A home she doesn't have anymore. He was there for her, and she was there for him. Her cheeks color a little.  _ You were my salvation. _ He's so cheesy, honestly. She sighs again, walking over to him and plopping down at his side. "Sorry Snake," she says, taking the offered hit of his cigarette. She breathes the smoke out into the hot summer air. "Not much of a mechanic." 

Snake shakes his head. "It's alright, Chris." He says. "We can find a way out." 

Chris grins and knocks her shoulder against his. "We survived Black Chamber, yeah? This should be a walk in the park!" The corner of Snake's lips twitch up and Chris counts it as a victory. An idea strikes her. "How about we sleep out here tonight?" She suggests. The night air is going to be cool, the perfect temperature to bundle up in the backseat together. The stars will be visible, too. It'll be nice. 

Snake grunts. "Sure." He says. "Getting really tired of those motels anyway." 

They shiver together. Their last motel was awful. Flooded and rotting and the  _ smell…  _ Better sleep outside then risk that again. They've got their equipment in the trunk of the Jeep, their weapons and bedrolls and Snake's clunky yet endearing uniform. They can set up camp easily, cook some of their stored rations over a fire. Sleep in the Jeep or outside. 

"Want me to turn on the radio?" Chris asks softly. She can't stand the silence, sometimes. 

"Yeah." Snake says. He knows why she asked. 

Chris stands up and brushes her legs free of dirt. She clicks on the radio in the Jeep and hops out, tapping her foot in time to the beat of the music as she leans against the broken vehicle. Snake catches her, and a grin spreads across his face. 

"Didn't take you for a dancer," he teases. 

Chris flips him off with a laugh. "This isn't even close to dancing, Snake!" She darts over, hauls him to his feet and spins him around, Snake making an amused sound as she does. She pulls him close, despite the summer heat, despite the oil covering her arms, despite the lit cigarette still hanging between his lips. She slowly leads him in what she remembers a waltz being like, even if it doesn’t fit with the upbeat rock that’s playing on the radio. “Snake…” She whispers. “You’ll come back for me, right?” 

Snake blinks up at her. “Of course,” he says. “I’d always come back for you.” The pause fills the hot and heavy air. “Would you wait for me?” 

Chris smiles, blindingly bright. “I’d wait as long as it takes. We’ll find our purpose together, yeah?” 

“Yeah. We will.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	4. "Leaders of Men."

George Sears is bitter. That’s not saying much, considering all that he’s been through. He’s in his thirties and looks like he’s fifty. The Patriots put him into his presidency, and expected him to be their perfect little puppet. He was working towards nuclear disarmament, working to put his name in the history books. He wants to be remembered. He wants to be known. For once in his life, he felt free, acting outside of the Patriot’s orders and orchestrating the Shadow Moses incident. He wanted REX, he wanted to be  _ free.  _ If he had only gotten REX, he could have attacked the Patriots directly, he could have shaken off the chains that held him. 

The Patriots wanted him dead once the existence of the soldiers they tampered were discovered. His spiritual brothers, the ones that used Big Boss’ genes, the same as him. The fact that REX was being developed on US soil, in direct contradiction to the treaty  _ he _ was trying to make with the Russians. Removed from office, disgraced, his name not being remembered. The public being told he resigned, instead of the truth. He was forced to go underground, forced to stay on the run to escape the Patriots and plan his counterattack against them. He met his new unit then, a group he had created during his presidency. Dead Cell. He becomes their de facto leader, plotting with them as Revolver Ocelot keeps him in the loop. 

He’s going to free the world. And the new weapon the United States is creating, Arsenal Gear, is how he’s going to do it. If he sets off an EMP above Manhattan, the Patriots will crumble. He’d free the world, create a zone free from the men who control others from the shadows. If he can stir the world into enough panic, he can find those men. He can kill those men. He can set everyone free. He’d be able to be free. His legacy would be remembered forever. 

King. Vamp calls him that. He’s their leader, Vamp’s King. He was the leader of a nation, before. Now he just leads this small group, this closely knit band of people that he helped bring together. It doesn’t matter. He’ll take down those who puppeteer the world, and he’ll bring about freedom. He’ll lead Dead Cell, he’ll lead as many people as he can trust. He knows he can trust Dead Cell. He knows they won’t betray him. 

Vamp teases him good naturedly, teaches him Romanian, teaches him how to throw knives, guiding his body with his own. Tells him his own history, his own reason for joining the anti-terrorist organization. How he had to drink blood to survive, his platonic love for Fortune, his romantic love for both men and women alike. 

Fortune, the woman who can’t die. The loss of her father. The loss of her husband. The loss of her mother. The loss of her child. She’s surrounded by grief, their Queen. She brings good luck to any mission she’s on, bullets curving around her, explosives becoming inert. She’s perfect for this mission. She’s not only a great asset, but such a strong woman, able to survive all those hardships and still live on. 

Fatman is nuts, to put it lightly. Obsessed with bombs, obsessed with surpassing his mentor. He’s a good part of the team though. He can make a damn good cocktail if asked. And he’s more than willing to ramble for hours about his bombs when one of the other members doesn’t want to think. 

It’s strange to think that these are the people that George has found himself in league with. But if he is to be a leader again, there’s no one else he’d rather be leading. A group he can trust. People he can trust. People who understand and resonate with his goals, people who will fight to help him free the world. They are going to succeed. He knows it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! While doing my research for this chapter I fell deeply in love with Fortune and became a Solidus apologist SO WHOOPS


	5. "Wilderness."

Snake thrives in the wild. It’s almost strange to think about how before this mission, he would have gladly gone out for coffee with the likes of Major Zero and Paramedic, been distantly polite and discussed “work and business”. But now that he’s here, back in where he grew up and was trained, he feels unrestrained. He can eat whatever he wants, out here. No one can judge him, it’s for survival. There’s no constant noise of cars, only the rustle of trees and the chirp of birds. There aren’t any people crowding him and expecting him to emote, there’s only himself and his weapon. 

It’s perfect, being alone out here. Snake crawls on his belly into a log, before carefully aiming through a hole to tranq another guard. He’s alone too. His partner turned his radio off and went to take a smoke break. He rifles through the guards pockets efficiently, finding a magazine of useful ammo and a ration. He crinkles his nose at the sight. Rations may last a long time, but god they’re disgusting. He’d rather eat an animal over rations any day, even if they are a little bit rotten. He shakes his head and puts it away anyways. Paramedic is gonna be cross with him if he doesn’t take it with him, at least for a little bit. She’s always complaining about all the “cute animals” he eats, and gets on his case about asking how things taste. He wants to know! 

He drops back down into the underbrush and continues to sneak through the jungle. His mind is sharp, for once. It’s never like this in Washington. Where the noise is too much, where people expect him to be something he’s not. They want him to smile and emote exactly how they want him to, they want him to shut up about his weapons, about the cool food he got from a street vendor. Nobody cares about what he has to say, they just want him to be a perfect example of a soldier. Snake thinks about the weapons he’s picked up so far, about the beautiful gun that he just couldn’t help gushing over to EVA. She looked vaguely amused for a reason he couldn’t place. Ah, well, it’s not his problem. 

Snake loves how the underbrush feels on his arms, how the dirt and grass feel beneath his fingers. He loves seeing the animals, and he loves eating them even more. The taste is so new, so  _ good,  _ and he can’t help but want some more. The only irritating thing is how the blood clings to his face, how he has to scratch it off time and time again, using a rag and some water to wash the caked bits off. It messes up his face paint if he’s not careful. That’s another thing he really loves out here, that he can wear whatever he wants in the name of camouflage. He likes the scientist uniform EVA got for him, he likes the camo he’s found folded up in buildings and crumpled and forgotten in caves. Sure, Zero isn’t happy that he wears clothes he found on the ground, and sure Paramedic gets irritated when he asks too many questions, and sure Sigint thinks his love for cardboard boxes is weird (they block out all sound, it’s nice and quiet, just Snake and a box and a space where he’s not under any eyes or any expectations), but they’re still his team. He still appreciates their input… most of the time. 

Going from the jungle to the mechanical warehouse where the Shagohod is stored is hell for his senses. From the clanking of catwalks from guard patrols, to the actual sounds of people working on the machine. It’s all too loud, and the industrial lights are too bright. He wants to go back to the jungle already, warm air and a cool breeze and only the sounds of nature to keep him company. He can handle it, of course he can. He’s got his mission, he’s not going to let a little thing like that stop him. If he can survive drowning, seeing a ghost and coming back to life, he can handle some lights and noise. 

Is it any surprise that after he finishes his mission, he disappears into the woods for a little bit? That he vanishes until Zero brings him back to civilization? He’s found his home, and it’s not in an office, in a city, in anywhere traditional. His home is the wilderness, his home is far away from the people who force him to be something he’s not, the people who congratulate him for something he didn’t want to do. He feels dull and lifeless when being used to advance Zero’s ideas. When he’s on the field, he feels alive. When he’s stuck in a meeting with the rest of the Patriots, he feels listless. He just wants to get back to the jungle. He wants to get back to roughing it, wants to get back to eating things because that’s all he has. He longs for the wilderness. He longs for his own form of freedom. 

When he breaks free of Zero’s control, he goes back to the jungle. Slowly, people join him. He makes his own organization, calls them MSF. Their home is the land, they travel and take jobs and  _ thrive.  _ Just them against the world. MSF grows steadily, more and more tents being added to makeshift campsites, more people gaining an appreciation for wild food and something caught by their own skill and cooked on a flame. This is his home. This is where he belongs. Always on the front, always on the field. He can be himself here, info-dumping about guns to the enthusiastic soldiers who listen, teaching techniques to fight and sneak in different environments, showing what plants he’s learned are inedible but have other uses, which animals can be eaten and which are good to use enemies a good scare. They’re all comrades, they’re all united under a single banner. They have all they need here. He has all he needs. 

This is where he belongs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I wrote 3 of these in 1.5 hours at approximately two in the morning and the other half in an hour between classes, please let me know if you spot any spelling errors I missed! 
> 
> You can find me on tumblr at the same name, I draw Big Boss a lot


End file.
